


The Prepared Mind

by Spatz



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quotations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 23:19:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spatz/pseuds/Spatz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harold hadn't planned for this to happen, exactly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prepared Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Beta thanks to Neery and Inmyriadbits! I'm much obliged for all the hand-holding on this one.

Harold hadn't planned for this to happen, exactly. He'd thought: perhaps someday, and made a few half-hearted preparations... but then John had been laughing in the taxi after dinner, low and pleased, and Harold had leaned over and kissed him right at the corner of his smile.

And John had kissed him back.

Harold wasn't sure how they'd gotten from his impulsive act to the bedroom of his nearest apartment, or where his jacket and tie had gone, and he certainly hadn't expected John to kiss like this – lush and curious and playful, his fingers inching Harold's shirt out of his waistband.

His last desperate attempt to gain some semblance of control vanished when John said, "I want you to fuck me, Harold,” dragging his teeth along the arch of Harold's ear.

“I-- _yes_ ,” Harold said, shuddering at the sensation. 

After a moment, he realized both of his hands were still splayed over John's back, where his muscles were flexing and shifting in fascinating ways, warm and strong. He forced himself to stretch one hand to his bedside table and pull out the condom and small packet of lube he'd placed there some time ago, hoping. Sliding the back of his hand in a caress down John's arm, he pressed them into the cup of John's fingers.

John pulled back a little and looked down. He laughed, surprised – and god, Harold would never get used to the way that lit up his face, the shadows and old pain falling away. 

"Chance favors the prepared mind?" John smirked, taking the condom from Harold but leaving him the lube. The implication sent Harold's mind skittering again, and the way John bent to kiss him – once on the lips, and then, with an odd air of fondness, just in front of his ear – didn't help.

"I didn't plan on observing," Harold replied after a moment, but knew the calm of his tone was betrayed by the way his hands gripped John's shoulders.

"What?" John said, pausing in his renewed exploration of Harold's neck.

"The- the complete quote," Harold stuttered, momentarily discomposed by the flutter of John's breath over the spot he had just licked. " _'In the field of observation, chance favors the prepared mind.'_ Louis Pasteur.”

“Really,” John said, pushing Harold gently back until he sat on the edge of the bed. “Well, watch carefully, Harold," and, holding his gaze, John dropped gracefully to his knees.

Harold's cock surged at the sight of John at his feet: hair tousled, lips pink from kissing and faintly amused, his long dextrous fingers working Harold's belt and button fly open. It was a fantasy he hadn't really allowed himself to have, and the unexpected reality was almost painfully arousing.

To distract himself, he ran his hands down the strong line of John's shoulders and thumbed at the graze scar below his left collarbone.

He knew why John's sensuality had been so unexpected. Since Harold had known him, John had been distressingly utilitarian with himself: his body was a weapon, his appearance a tool to charm or intimidate, his heart something that others needed protection from. 

Harold quite disagreed, and he rather looked forward to making his arguments with body and touch. _This_ language John might accept, where words would never have availed. 

On the sudden dizzying joy of that thought, John was there, pulling Harold out of his boxers, nuzzling at his cock, mouthing at the head. Harold panted helplessly, his hands flexing on John's shoulders, unsure – could he touch the curve of John's ear? Slide fingers through his hair? Press a thumb to John's lips where they stretched around his shaft? He felt clumsy with pleasure, estranged by all the things he suddenly didn't know, all the things he wanted if only John wanted them, too.

John pulled back, as if he'd felt Harold hesitate. He opened his eyes – and there he was again, all of his focus pinned on Harold: intense and familiar and dear. There was a warm, unhurried air to his movements that Harold had never seen before as John pulled Harold's hand from his shoulder, pressed a kiss to the inside of Harold's wrist, and let go. He didn't look away; it was permission and declaration all at once.

Set free, Harold traced his shaking fingers over John's brow until his eyes slid shut. He ghosted down the bridge of John's nose and along the dark, delicate brush of his lashes where they lay against his skin. Finally, he cupped John's cheek and John took him in again, his mouth impossibly warm and slick. When he was down as far as he could go, he made a quiet contented sound that hit Harold like a blow.

Harold felt his whole body flush hot and urgent, and he bucked helplessly into John's mouth. John stayed with him, following his lead as he always did – then sucked harder, pushing back. His hands stroked over Harold's hips to his thighs, dipped under his balls and up through the curl of hair at his groin, until John's callused fingers were finally circling the base of Harold's cock – a shocking counterpoint to the soft wet heat of his tongue.

“John--” Harold choked out, overwhelmed, but John just hummed and kept going until Harold curled forward over his head and came – shattered, saved, feeling like he might never stop.

Time reasserted itself, and John pulled off, swallowing without qualm. 

His face was turned down, exposing the nape of his neck, and Harold gave in to a sudden selfish desire and pressed his cheek protectively against the top of John's head. His hair was just as soft as it always looked, and the fine strands brushed against Harold's lips as he caught his breath.

Drawing back reluctantly, Harold said, “It seems we didn't need that condom after all.” He felt somewhat guilty for his short fuse, given John's earlier request, but John just smiled up at him, somehow sweet and wicked at once.

“Next time,” he promised, echoing Harold's earlier delight, and surged up to tip Harold back against the mattress. Unbuttoning as he moved over Harold, John pulled apart the sides of Harold's shirt and pressed wet kisses into the hollow of his ribs and up the curve of his chest, sucking at his nipples. Harold in turn tugged at John's clothing, but his fingers were more clever with computers than people, so he didn't make it far before John got impatient and climbed off to strip naked. 

Harold had just enough time to kick his dangling pants and boxers off his ankles before John was back, pushing him up the bed before straddling Harold's right thigh – his uninjured one. Fondness swelled almost painfully in Harold's chest as John bent to kiss him again: sucking at his lower lip, feathering across his cheekbone, nuzzling at his temple. He could feel John hot and hard against his stomach, sliding across the wet, sensitized places John had kissed. 

Harold's own cock twitched, but he was far past the age when he could get hard again so quickly, so he simply let his hands roam across John's body, caressing all the vulnerable places where John had given Harold access: the soft back of his neck, the warm curve of his ribs, the divot at the base of his spine, and down the crease to the pucker of his ass. Harold slid the tip of his finger, dry, into the tight muscle there, and John moaned against his jaw and opened for him.

The lube was long since lost in the sheets, so Harold was careful. He pressed in a little and circled his finger, then angled his hand to strum a knuckle across the thin rim of his hole, his thumb pressing into the delicate skin of the perineum. John shuddered, his eyes squeezing shut.

Pleased, Harold slid his other hand between them and gripped John's cock in his hand.

“Oh god, Harold, please,” John gasped and found Harold's mouth again, desperate and almost clumsy. Harold licked into his mouth and thrust again as he pulled his other hand firmly up John's shaft and twisted over the head – multitasking was something he was _very_ good at – and John made muffled, helpless noises, clinging to Harold's mouth as if he was trying to keep himself from speaking.

Harold turned his head a little and kissed John where the sharp edge of his cheekbone met the vulnerable skin above, gentle and lingering.

“ _Harold_ ,” John said, sounding broken, and Harold sped up his hands, twisting and pulling and bringing John to the edge, and over.

Even in the wake of his orgasm, John managed to keep his weight off Harold's bad leg, but he fell forward, pushing his face into the side of Harold's neck. 

Their chests pressed together, John's sparse chest hair rasping against his nipples so that they tightened with a little aftershock of pleasure.

After a minute, John lifted his head and kissed Harold, long and deep and sweet, then again. "Thank you," he murmured in between kisses, and Harold knew he meant far more than what had just happened.

Harold stroked a hand through John's hair, unsure again in the face of John's gratitude. He fought the urge to apologize for the man he'd been: the one who had assumed John was just an alcoholic ex-assassin, the one who'd seen him as a tool. He'd been worse than wrong; he'd been ignorant. So much had changed for the better when he'd found John, for both of them, and this... This was a gift he thought he'd never have again.

"I didn't plan any of this," Harold confessed.

"I know," John said, smiling peacefully down at Harold. "Some things are better left unplanned."


End file.
